Incandescent Ruin
by EverMindTheRuleOfThree
Summary: Ichigo is dead. Not Soul-Society dead. Lost-to-oblivion dead, or so everyone thinks. The War is over, and Aizen is victorious, now Spirit King. The Resistance works to bring him down, but hope is dwindling as Ichigo is yet to be found. Each person must face their demons and emerge triumphant, for they cannot fail. The Kingdom must fall. The King must die.
1. Chapter 1

**incandescent **(adj.): 1) white, glowing, or luminous with intense heat, 2) strikingly bright, radiant, or clear, 3) marked by brilliance especially of expression, 4) characterized by glowing zeal (Merriam-Webster online)

She leaned back in the rickety chair, willing herself to keep her head. If this report was correct, this was quite possibly one of the worst things that could have happened. It would be catastrophic for the movement, to say the least. The rebellion was already facing a steep uphill battle, and any new setbacks would undo the few gains that they had managed to make in the past several months. She stood up, clasping the paper tightly in her hands, as though her grip could crush the very words and force them from existence. She was very short; her raven-colored head did not brush the low ceiling as most others' did, but she still made her way carefully through the dilapidated shack, careful not to step upon the littered glass or trash that decorated the thatched dirt floor so well.

Her violet eyes scanned the rooms ahead of her, and seeing neither of the two men she was looking for, she continued on, her pace picking up steadily. She really needed to share this news with them sooner rather than later. Finally, in the very back room of the unofficial compound, she spotted the second man's vivid red hair and intricately tattooed arm, which was gesturing profusely at one of his subordinates.

"Renji," she greeted, glancing at him for a split second, "Have you seen my brother recently?" He glanced back at her, shaking his head as he did.

"Not for a while," he began, turning around to face her completely. He looked exhausted, or perhaps it was just stress that rimmed his formerly stubborn face. He thought for a moment, scratching his head absently as he did, "Actually, I think he said earlier that he was going to try to get a message to the southern half of the organization." Rukia nodded, barely listening to what he was saying.

"Well, we have to find him and gather everyone together," she said, "I just received that report that we've been waiting on, and it's not good news." She glanced back down at the paper that was still tightly bundled in her small fist; unfortunately, the writing upon it remained the same, obstinate as ever. Rukia scoffed before thrusting the unwelcome paper into her tattered pocket. She glanced up, wondering why Renji had seemingly misinterpreted the urgency of her message. He had gone very still above her, and his eyes were staring at her with a mixture of disbelief and curiosity.

"Which report?" he asked, his voice low, "Not the one on…" She shook her head, cutting him off before he could even conclude his sentence. She looked away from him, staring at the floor as an unpleasant pit formed in the depths of her stomach.

"No," she said, even more quietly, glancing around as she spoke. No one seemed to be standing too close to them, but still. The king had spies everywhere, and this was the one thing that they did not want to get caught talking about at all. "I still haven't found anything. And at this point, there's nowhere else to check. We've looked everywhere. I guess everyone's right, Renji. He is dead. We just have to move on, to focus on bringing down the king." Renji laid a hand on her tiny shoulder, the closest thing he could muster to a comforting gesture at the moment.

"Rukia…" he began, opening his mouth without knowing what he planned to say. But his words were no longer needed; Byakuya appeared behind his sister, the strain of leading the apparently fruitless rebellion visible in his dark grey eyes.

"I was told you had received the latest intelligence," he said in his usual monotone, staring down at Rukia with an indecipherable look, "We've convened many of the operatives at the other compound, and we don't have long before some of their absences will undoubtedly be noticed." He finished speaking, his eyes boring into Rukia as he took note of her pale face and drawn features. "Is something wrong?" She looked up at him, glancing at Renji for a split second.

"No," she replied flatly, thrusting the crumpled paper from her pocket at her brother without further comment. She strode away from the two of them, but Byakuya's voice reached her before she could leave the dingy room.

"Rukia," he called, his voice barely a whisper, yet inherently commanding nonetheless. "He is dead, gone. There is no other possibility. We must focus all of our energies on destabilizing the Spirit King's regime. Sosuke Aizen has proven to be a more formidable opponent than any of us ever estimated, and this rebellion needs you at your best. So come, we cannot be late." He walked past her, his hand gripping the report even more tightly than hers had. Rukia watched him mutely for a moment, before following him silently, her thoughts still wandering to the supposed impossibilities that remained. Renji was left alone in the small room for a moment, and his thoughts drifted to the same impossibilities, the same unfeasible scenarios that everyone else continued to shoot down. But he shook them off quickly and followed behind the two Kuchikis, dreading the news that the crumpled report was about to share.

* * *

He lay flat on his back, staring at the grey, cloudless sky with a practiced resignation. The sheer futility of his actions seemed to echo in the eternally empty space, and the clouds were almost mocking him as they drifted along to some predetermined destination. Shifting his head only slightly, he glanced at Zangetsu in furious annoyance. He could only see the hilt of his zanpakuto from his current vantage point. It didn't matter anyway. Nothing mattered, it seemed. At least not here, in this inescapable abyss. The terrain was unforgiving and rocky, the sky perpetually cloudy, as though a storm were always brewing just beyond the realm of his vision. The crumbling black rocks and the dark, sticky dirt that stuck to his back were lightened only minutely by the dim light cast upon them from the silver-grey sky above.

It was truly the physical reflection of misery, and Ichigo accepted it as such. He turned away from Zangetsu, choosing to shut his eyes instead. This momentary sojourn into his head would not bring the conversation he so desperately craved. Neither Zangetsu nor his hollow side had spoken to him in what seemed like months. In the beginning, they, as had he, had tried everything to escape this hell. In their usual flawless cooperation, they had debated any analyzed every possible method or means or escape. But the utter helplessness had turned to furious snappishness, and the dire nature of the situation had brought about one unpleasant exchange after another. Ichigo had, in a moment of admittedly unfair hotheadedness, left Zangetsu, ignoring his calls as he implored his wielder to return. It had taken several days of alternately roving the strange wilderness in a belligerent funk and apathetically wondering why he even bothered, but Ichigo had finally returned, ready to acknowledge his mistake.

But there had been nowhere and no one to which he could return.

He was stuck here, watching as the grey burned itself into his eyelids with uncomfortable persistence; his own subconscious had rejected him. He still had the material representation of Zangetsu, yes, but like everything else, it didn't matter. There was nothing he could do. He felt even more powerless than before, so now, after placing the gleaming zanpakuto in a sturdier patch of the gummy dirt, he reverted back to one of his apathetic phases. He was powerless, alone, and trapped in a hell that seemed unlikely to ever yield or even allow him some small measure or semblance of sanity. It was maddening, but Ichigo sighed, uncharacteristically cognizant of the fact that anger got him nowhere. As he stared at the unfortunately familiar sky, he wondered, as he had perhaps a million times, what was going on outside of his newfound prison, both in the Human World and the Soul Society.

The Winter War had probably concluded by this point; he wondered how much time had passed since everything had happened and if the shinigami had successfully protected Karakura Town. His thoughts cut away from the last part with a rapid unease, and he shifted in discomfort, rolling over so he didn't have to look at the sky at all. He missed the feel of his reiatsu enveloping him in effortless precision, and he missed the calm, steady tenor of Zangetsu's voice, guiding him as he fought, battle after battle, enemy after enemy.

Ichigo sat up slowly, the familiar hatred for Aizen and his comrades building. Without their petty quest for power, there would be no war, no threat to his family and friends, and (most pressing to his current situation) he wouldn't be stuck in this purgatory, cut off from news, waiting as the debilitating thirst for a scrap of news threatened to eat every fiber of his being. So he curled up, hating himself as he drifted back to his mind-numbing apathy. As his mind babbled incoherently at him, he stared at the clouds, relaxing his comfortably rigid position with a loathing submissiveness. The grey, the clouds, the rocks, the dirt, the silence of the abyss itself… All of them would be the very things that wore the fiery, unstoppable Ichigo Kurosaki down to a nub, a shadow of the incorrigible Substitute Soul Reaper that he had once been.


	2. Chapter 2

It was eerily quiet in the small room, but the steady breathing of the white-haired man in the bed lent a simple, peaceful tranquility to the atmosphere, a tranquility that existed in marked contrast to the oppressive utopia that functioned beyond the four walls of this room. The supposed utopia barely managed to contain the near-chaos that seemed to always float on the fringes of the strictly controlled kingdom. Apparently the chaos was waiting for just the tiniest crack in the charade before it could burst through and wash away all of the sheer falsity that this ridiculous façade had imposed upon them.

The dark-haired man seated next to the bed chuckled as he considered this thought; chaos would certainly be a welcome change. He tipped the straw hat on his head forward just the slightest bit, covering his eyes as the malicious joy danced freely in his sparkling grey eyes. There was a small cough from the bed, and Shunsui leaned forward, his concerned eyes focused intently on Jushiro. But his best friend offered no other sound; his chest returned to the earlier pattern of consistent rise and fall. Shunsui glanced away from the bed for a few minutes, but his eyes had no specific target; the neutral walls of the Fourth Division were intimately familiar to him after all this time.

It _had_ been quite a while, Shunsui realized as he thought about it. Or at least longer than it seemed. But the length of time made sense- Jushiro's health had taken a drastic turn for the worse about a week after the Winter War ended, several days before the Resistance had deserted the Seireitei. Aizen's propaganda machines had termed that day the "Day of Desertion" and had proceeded to craft an amusing little anti-Resistance campaign from the stories and lies that went along with it. Shunsui chuckled again, standing up as he took a moment to savor and enjoy the sheer ineptitude and idiocy of some of those who were most loyal to the regime. It was a small comfort given the state of things, but there were few small comforts at the moment, given the fact that there were eyes everywhere, many of which were not as inept or idiotic as the bumbling fools of past memories.

Shunsui glanced back at his best friend, remembering the brief dilemma he had faced on the very day in question. Several of the soon-to-be Resistance members had approached him after Jushiro had fallen ill, wondering if his plans would change after the catastrophic development. Shinji Hirako and Byakuya Kuchiki, as well as the latter's sister, had visited him probably two days before the desertion, offering their condolences, as well as their sincere promises to help in any way that they could. But the word was that Unohana was staying, and that changed everything. The older Kuchiki and Hirako hadn't seemed to grasp the relevance of that fact to Shunsui's newly-changed decision in the immediate sense of the conversation, but the younger Kuchiki had looked at him, her eyes imploring.

Shunsui knew she couldn't stay, regardless of how much she undoubtedly wanted to. She cared for her captain of course, and the blazing worry was evident in her eyes, but she needed to search, to comb every inch of every world until her questions could be answered. She had to go with the Resistance; she couldn't stay here.

But he could. He hadn't necessarily needed her unspoken plea to make his decision; he would never leave his best friend behind while Aizen flaunted his power like the petulant child he was. Unohana was obviously the best at healing kido, and Jushiro had to stay here with her, where she could attempt to rectify whatever ailment was ravaging his system. And while he trusted Unohana implicitly, Shunsui also knew that he needed to be here when his snowy-haired counterpart finally awoke.

So here he stayed, waiting for the slightest change, the smallest spark, any signal that his best friend was still somewhere inside his ailing shell. Shunsui turned to leave, not regretting his decision to stay here one bit. As he closed the thin door behind him, he found Nanao waiting for him quietly, as always. She rose from her seated position against the wall as he approached, and he chuckled as she surveyed him carefully, as though making sure he was still completely intact. It had become quickly apparent two years ago, as the restructuring after the desertion began, that he was not the only one who considered loyalty a trait of utmost importance. They exited the Fourth Division grounds slowly, Nanao relaying the trivial goings-on of the kingdom while Shunsui listened idly. They picked up their pace as they made their way back to the Eighth Division's grounds, and the further they got from Jushiro's bed, the more quickly the vestiges of that peaceful tranquility seemed to fade.

* * *

He knew they were whispering behind his back; he knew some of them had accepted his decision two years ago with surprise or even disappointment. And he knew that the surprise and disappointment had, for some of them, turned into blatant disdain and disrespect. While most of his squad had remained loyal to his commands, regardless of what they may have personally thought, there were some who had let their displeasure be known. Truthfully, Kenpachi couldn't care less what those worthless assholes thought; they were of no use to him, and their precious little feelings and opinions were essentially meaningless. But if they had a problem, he definitely wouldn't mind reminding several of them who was boss and why. In fact, a fight would liven things up around this hellhole a fair amount. He smirked, running through his mental list of who he could probably provoke into a worthwhile fight. The list wasn't long, and he didn't even want to waste his time hunting the bastards down when the fights wouldn't be worth shit anyway.

"Captain Zaraki," one of his squad members called, appearing suddenly at his shoulder. "Captain Unohana said one of the squad members was injured in some sort of altercation and that she needs you to give her background information on the guy. I guess he's unconscious or something." Kenny scoffed, rolling his eyes as he stood up. His idiot squad members were little more than hassles, and he assumed that the fucktard in the hospital had probably knocked himself out with his zanpakuto or tripped over his own feet. Either was a strong possibility with this bunch. Something interesting was not especially likely, that was for sure. Kenny glanced around, noting the absence of his pink-haired shadow.

"Seen Yachiru?" he grunted at the squad member, who looked confused for a moment.

"I think the lieutenant said she wanted to go play with 'wolf-face'," the member relayed in a low tone.

"Mm," Kenny grunted, turning away. That made sense. Ever since Yamamoto's death at the end of the Winter War, Komamura had been moping around the Seventh Division's grounds. There had been talk that he had tried to talk to his old friend Tosen, convinced that he could make him see reason and that he had decided against going with the Resistance in the hope of bringing his old friend back to his senses. Grief-fueled bullshit, Kenny thought. Those talks, obviously, had failed. Which had wound what he termed more potent moping to an even higher level. Yachiru, on the other hand, didn't seem to view the moping as the pitiful whining that Kenny did. She began spending some time cheering "wolf-face" up, which was fine with Kenny. It was good that she was entertained; there was absolutely nothing to do here.

He walked toward the door, drawing his zanpakuto from his waist and resting it comfortably behind his head, across his shoulders. It felt good to have it in his hand, and Kenny knew as well as anyone that the best fights usually broke out when one was least expecting them. He smiled as he headed to the Fourth Division's grounds, wondering how long this little chat with Unohana would take. There was some bullshit rule about not being allowed to be within a certain distance from another captain without royal permission, but Kenny decided to take a fuck-the-rules-and-the-assholes-who-make-them approach to observation of said rule, as per usual. Of course, he had barely stepped onto the grounds when his babysitters decided to take action.

"You can't do that!" he heard a scandalized voice demand from somewhere behind him.

"Fuck off," Kenny called, not even bothering to look back.

"Hey," the guy called again, drawing his zanpakuto as he stepped in front of Kenny, blocking his path. "If you don't do what I say, I'll report you to the King's Guard. It's against royal mandate, and you know it." Kenny considered this for a moment. The mockery of the Royal Guard that was now operating was little more than Aizen's secret police force. They essentially existed to torture information on the Resistance out of people or to punish those who contradicted any one of the million royal mandates. The Espada with the green eyes and the black hair headed the Guard, and although Kenny had been itching to cut that bastard for quite a while, he resisted the urge. He had said he wouldn't do anything stupid if he stayed, and fighting that Espada (however enjoyable it would undoubtedly be) would probably be stupid. So, grumbling mutinously under his breath about that dumbass promise, he turned to the bastard who had just thrown that meaningless ultimatum at him.

"If I don't do what you say…" he corrected, giving the man a leering grin as he leaned down to threaten him in his face, his zanpakuto still resting unconcernedly on his shoulders, "you'll end up in lots of little pieces on the ground. And after crafting those little pieces with this…" he raised his jagged zanpakuto slightly and smiled even more as blind terror began to show in the fool's eyes and his hands wavered on his comparably pitiful zanpakuto's hilt, "I'll step over them and continue on my way. So stop with your idle threats and move out of my way, shitface." He pushed the man aside roughly and chuckled, noting that he no longer heard the aggravating sound of footsteps behind him. Finally, he entered the Fourth Division barracks, finding Unohana almost instantly. Her back faced him as he entered, but he walked in, coming to stand beside her.

"I was told you needed me," he began gruffly, staring down at the top of her head out of the corner of his eye. He glanced at the bed; the kid in it was one of the ones he wouldn't be sorry to see gone.

"Yes, Captain Zaraki," she replied in her calming, mellow voice, glancing at him as he stood next to her. "I was told this man was in your squad. He was found on a side street, unconscious. Do you have any members of your squad doing something specific?" She turned to him as she talked, her hands folded simply in front of her. He said nothing for a moment, staring down at her, his face inscrutable.

"No," he answered, "Don't know and don't care what he was doing or how he got hurt." Unohana said nothing for a moment, but she moved in front of him, checking the patient's pulse and heart rate as she did. She scribbled some illegible numbers down, but turned back to Kenny, her eyes curious.

"Is Tuesday agreeable?" she asked, her delicate voice even quieter than before. But he heard her; his ears had become attuned to that pitch.

"Yeah," he replied just as gruffly, turning away. She turned back to the patient as he left the building, the footsteps picking up behind him yet again. Alright, he conceded to himself, it hadn't been a complete waste of time.

* * *

It was very dark in the room; he hadn't made any sort of effort to light it since he got here several hours ago. He sat at the desk in his office, though work was quite possibly the last thing on his mind. The idea that he had to do paperwork to accommodate the very regime that was holding her hostage was more than repellent, it was noxiously abhorrent. He leaned forward, deciding to use the desk if only as a prop for his left elbow. As he placed his arm on the desk, he settled his chin in his left hand, choosing to succumb to his thoughts instead of wasting a thought on work that ultimately had no relevance.

So he let his thoughts fill his mind and allowed the resurgence of the accompanying worry and nausea to settle in his stomach as well. She had looked frailer the last time, and although she had brushed off his questions with a brash denial that was strikingly true to character, he knew that the imprisonment was taking a drastic toll on both of the twins. It had, without question, been more difficult for Yuzu; it seemed like her small frame was wasting away in the very cell as he talked to Karin. Toshiro had tried not to let his panic show on his face while they talked, but it was clear that Yuzu could not take this captivity much longer. He wondered if he should try to get a message to the Resistance so that they could formulate a plan or attempt some sort of jailbreak. He knew Isshin Kurosaki would break down every barrier to get his daughters back, just like his son would have.

Toshiro shifted uncomfortably; this was precisely why he knew he had to do something, and soon. He still wasn't sure that Karin had recuperated fully from the loss of her older brother, and if her twin sister were to die in that miserable cell, even her hardy bravado probably wouldn't survive. The problem was, Aizen's innumerable spies and contacts were flawlessly coordinated and inconveniently prescient. Toshiro had no way of knowing who was truly allied with the Resistance and who wasn't, and the last thing he needed was the wrong person to catch him in an attempt of passing classified information to an illegal organization. Technically, he shouldn't even know they were still alive. Besides Matsumoto and the actual captors, he was the only one who knew that they hadn't in fact been killed at the end of the War, in the siege on Karakura, but that Aizen had stashed them away in a secret location. This was exactly why he could not go around telling secrets that had only one time and place in which they could be successfully told. He didn't want to tell the wrong person and cause their premature deaths because of his well-intentioned idiocy, or for someone in the Resistance to half-heartedly go at the king and cause their deaths in retaliation.

He needed Isshin Kurosaki, and he needed to talk to him face-to-face. He had never met the older Kurosaki; it had always been his son that Toshiro dealt with. Fighting the unpleasant bile that was rising in his stomach yet again, he raised his head from his hand, choosing instead to cross his arms resolutely. He owed Ichigo's memory his best effort, and he _would_ find Isshin Kurosaki before it was too late; he promised himself that much. His mind whirred with the possibilities; his best chance was undoubtedly through one of the pre-War Gotei Thirteen captains. Save for squads one, three, five, six, and nine, all of the remaining captains could possibly be affiliated with the Resistance. He knew they had all been approached prior to the desertion, and that most, if not all, of them had planned to defect and subvert Aizen's dubious claim to the throne along with the Vizards and shinigami who had returned from the Human World.

But personal alliances and loyalties unfortunately bound them to the Seireitei, and those who stayed were tied for varied, sometimes unfathomable, reasons. This complicated matters immensely, because along with the fact that the original captains were the most closely watched for treasonous offenses, he had no way of knowing who had stayed because of personal loyalty to something that was threatened by the new regime, or because of a lack of interest in bringing about the downfall of that regime. Toshiro had just shut his eyes, trying to work through this dilemma, when the door opened. It was dark, but the orange-haired woman who entered did not seem to find the darkness particularly unusual. Opening his eyes, Toshiro studied her for a moment, grateful that, on that fateful day two years ago, she had told him of the twins' capture mere hours before he had planned to leave. She had apparently overheard Ichimaru discussing something related to the prison, and she'd hurried to her captain, knowing that Karin was the one person for whom he would remain in the Seireitei. Toshiro was immeasurably grateful to her, and although he had missed his chance, he knew where he was most needed.

"Captain," she nodded at him, the cheerful tone of her voice faltering just a bit. He nodded at her in response, watching as she turned and walked out of sight. Living with Ichimaru must take its toll, he mused, a pang of pity for his lieutenant punctuating his thoughts of Karin. Rangiku returned and settled herself in the chair in front of her captain's desk, a cup grasped firmly in her left hand. Her right hand played absently with the silver chain around her neck, but her left hand brought the cup up to her mouth, and she drank the liquid purposefully. It was early, but whether it was tea or sake, Toshiro did not know. Either made sense; the past years had been especially unkind. As his thoughts drifted back to his plans, the terribly limp Yuzu in the corner of that cell, and the flickering flames in Karin's determined eyes, Toshiro turned away from his lieutenant, looking at the wall. Rangiku barely noticed; she was thinking of his pale lavender hair, that ever-present smirk, and the tiny glint of sadness she had seen in those shrewd, narrow eyes before he turned away this morning.


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer: We don't own** _**Bleach.**_**  
**

**AN: Sorry for the long wait everybody! College is a bit of a life ruiner sometimes...****Anyhoo, here's the new chapter, and the first two have been edited to facilitate easier reading (the content is the same (save for the missing author notes), and I've simply changed the spacing.) Thank you for all the kind reviews! You guys, just too nice :)**

**Thank you!**

**Nissa and Leah**

* * *

The past two weeks had been hectic, to say the least. Rukia's operative's report had set things in motion, and there was really no going back now. They had lost seven people according to that report, and of course, those were the only people who had actually seen the written confirmation of Aizen's apparently not-so-tentative plans. But regardless of this indisputable setback, the intelligence they'd acquired in the past week or so seemed to corroborate those plans.

There were two separate issues, and each was especially problematic. While most of the fatalities had occurred during the discovery of the first issue, the second was arguably the more immediately relevant of the two. The first, in bare terms, was essentially a geographic problem. After combining Hueco Mundo and the Soul Society, Aizen's gaze had fallen on the scorched Karakura Town as a possibility of what could be. If he could bridge all three realms, he would have a massive, sprawling kingdom over which he could exercise his indisputable power and control. With two of three already combined, he had proceeded to wreak havoc on the Human World, scorching everything and everyone that stood in his way. They had delayed him on some fronts with various skirmishes and derailments, which was why he had only damaged fifteen percent of the Human World, and not the projected thirty-five that should have occurred by now. Apparently, whatever tolerance or restraint he'd previously showed was gone. The operatives indicated that he expected to up that number to fifty percent by the end of the year, and he was not going to allow any more "petty inconveniences" to set him back this time. He would be taking a more personal hand in this project, and they knew that this was beyond problematic; his power continued to grow exponentially and any direct conflict would essentially be a suicide mission.

They needed to regroup, to redefine and re-devise the previous plans. Unfortunately, after that grim little pronouncement, Rukia had cast a dark look at the unsettled crowd, stating that she wasn't finished, and there was more. Renji had, as had many others, glanced around, wondering if anyone else was trying to figure out how the news could possibly get worse than that. Groaning in ill-awaited anticipation, he'd stretched before Rukia could launch into the next part of the report. He hadn't been alone, almost everyone had turned to their neighbor to mutter something in a worried undertone or stretch their numbing joints in uncomfortable necessity. Almost every member of the Resistance was here; word had apparently spread that this would be especially important.

There were perhaps a hundred of them: a motley crew of captains, lieutenants, seated officers, everyday squad members, Kido Corps members, and even several Onmitsukido members; it was clear that rank or division wasn't as important as the membership itself. After taking a sip of water, Rukia had plowed on with her recitation of that fateful report, bringing Renji's attention back to the matter at hand: the second point. There had been unconfirmed rumors circling that Aizen and his loyalists at the Office of Research and Development were developing something that would deal a fatal strike to the Resistance, and now they had a brief description of what that something was. The working title was "Selective Reiatsu Suppression Device", and it would apparently allow its user to target specific people and block their reiatsu, essentially rendering them next to useless in a battle situation. This was the especially problematic part of the news, because although people had seemed to think that such a device would prove impossible, Rukia had ignored their muttering, staring at Urahara. He'd been seated several seats away from Renji, his eyebrows knitted together in one of his rare serious moments.

"Oh, it's possible," he said lightly, dispelling the incredulous muttering as he spoke. "They must only have a prototype at this point though; I doubt they've acquired all of the necessary components. Even if they do have all of the components, it will take at least three to four months to gain samples of Resistance members' reiatsu and program the system to recognize them on command." He stood up, every eye on him. "I'll begin working on some schematics to deal with this, but we'll also probably need to work on some contingency plans, in case they've somehow progressed further than I think." It was silent as people listened, and most eyes followed him as he swept out of the room. The silence remained even as the meeting concluded, and Renji had turned to his captain as soon as people began to leave, most of them departing mutely.

"What do you need from me, sir?" he asked, crossing his arms. Although the atmosphere tended to downplay formalities, Renji knew that his respect for his captain aligned closely with his loyalty to the Sixth Division in general, as well as Captain Kuchiki's role in the movement itself. Byakuya had turned to him, his eyes looking even more serious than usual. Renji could also see the exhaustion lurking in the background, as though it knew that soon it would no longer need to lurk in the shadows, but would instead have the run of the place.

"I am going to head down to the south when the transport leaves tonight," he'd begun, glancing over Renji's shoulder as though looking for someone. "The situation there is dire and getting worse by the day, and with Urahara out of action, working on this research, they are probably going to need extra assistance. You can run point here, keep me updated, and I will probably be back in a few weeks, once Urahara can develop something solid." Renji had just stared at him, but he stepped back as Isshin Kurosaki approached them. Apparently this was who Captain Kuchiki had been looking for. Renji had looked away for a split second; he felt distinctly uncomfortable around the man after what had happened.

"Sir," he'd said politely, bowing to Ichigo's father with strange formality. Isshin had chuckled, patting him on the back firmly.

"This politeness is weird coming from you, Renji," he'd said heartily, "What happened to that incorrigibly stubborn bastard who used to gobble up all of Kisuke's food?" Renji had smiled, feeling slightly less awkward.

"Uh," he'd started, unsure of what exactly to say in response to that question, or if Isshin even wanted a reply.

"Kurosaki?" Byakuya had asked, turning from where he was at the doorway. "We are leaving, correct?" Isshin nodded, waving a hand to Renji as he turned.

Renji watched them leave, glad that awkward conversation was over. Even now, two weeks later, he remembered that night with a palpable unease. But he pushed the thought aside; they were fighting even more of an uphill battle now, and he didn't have time for errant thoughts. He'd been organizing groups into reconnaissance stations; they had to act quickly and decisively before this device was finished and before Aizen could organize a more cohesive means of wreaking destruction in the Human World. As the groups went to coordinate their approaches, Renji found he had a rare moment of free time. His hand snapped almost automatically to Zabimaru, and he realized that he hadn't practiced in what seemed like forever. Shunpo was especially useful these days; there never seemed to be enough time in the day, and what little time they had was definitely not wasted walking. Especially now, when free time was so hard to come by.

"Oh, hell yeah, " he said to himself, knowing he had to relish this moment while he still had it. So he took off quickly toward the makeshift practice area that had been constructed to work off the inevitable pent-up frustration. The area was spacious, which was exactly what he needed right now. As he drew his zanpakuto, the hilt resting in his hand with a familiar comfort, he extended his arm, ready to give the command he hadn't had a chance to use in so long.

"Roar, Zabimaru," he commanded in an oddly clear voice, his muscles relaxing as the sword extended, both of them eager to fight, to strike down the very reason they hadn't seen each other in so long.

* * *

Long ago, in the beginning, he had tried to construct something that could mark the passage of time in his unfortunate home. There were no days or nights, or at least not ones marked by the shift from light to dark. It was always hovering between the two extremes, the symbolism of the color grey seemingly a cruel joke on fate's part. If he had to guess though, he would estimate his time here not by days or months, but by years. It definitely felt like ten years had passed, regardless of whether they actually had or not. There was no way to pass the time, so there was not even an abstract way to measure it, a way free from the unhelpful neutrality of his environmental surroundings. Meh… unimportant, he thought lazily to himself, floating on his back in the small and rocky, yet blessedly water-filled, pool he'd discovered, by his estimate, several years ago. It got the gummy dirt off pretty well, which he supposed was helpful.

"Better to be clean, I guess," he said aloud, sticking to his plan to remind himself periodically what human speech sounded like. It was weird; his voice echoed, yet at the same time, he felt like he was always straining to hear over an indefinable background noise. "Not that anyone can see me or anything, but I guess there's hygienic stuff that bathing kinda helps with…" he trailed off, bored with the topic already. After a fair stretch of time, he got out of the little pool, dragging his wet, worn clothes on with a disdainful apathy.

He supposed since he had died in his human body, and since some weird fluke had apparently forced him to bypass the normal death in which one was reborn in the Soul Society, he was stuck in these clothes for eternity, which really sucked. He didn't get it at all; how come he had Zangetsu if he was really in his human body? Was he in human limbo or spirit limbo or some strange hybrid limbo? None of it made any sense, and he had spent too many hours trying to force it to make just a shred of some kind of sense.

So after shrugging into his shirt, he flopped backward listlessly, hitting the dirt with a familiar thud. Pulling his still-mute zanpakuto closer to him as he curled into a ball, he tried to fall asleep, which was what he usually did most of the time. He did fall asleep, actually, but his sleep was marred by something he thought no longer possible: dreams. Not just dreams, but something more than dreams. They were vivid, graphic nightmares, nightmares he couldn't fathom or even begin to comprehend. He snapped awake; the violent jerk of his body's reaction sent an unprecedented amount of pain surging into his forehead. His eyes shut tightly in response to the pain, and he put a hand to his forehead, which was blazing.

"Shit!" he swore, resting his head in his hand as he propped his elbow on his knee. Not only did his forehead feel as though a strangely numbing fire had burned it into painful and scattered little ashes, but a storm seemed to be raging in the normally grey, expressionless sky. He had apparently evolved into an excessively heavy sleeper; the din was extremely loud, and sleep would undoubtedly be impossible in this mess. The sky was a sinister amalgamation of dark purples, reds, and pinks, and vibrantly brilliant lightning cracked across the sky with staggering force.

It wasn't raining at the moment, but the earsplitting thunder that boomed as Ichigo looked around in confusion, his mind numb, seemed to crumble the very dirt upon which he sat. Using Zangetsu to help himself up, he found that his head was not the only problem. His legs wobbled like boneless gelatin, his arms hung like impossibly heavy blocks of cement at his side. He collapsed to the ground, his right hand still grasping Zangetsu with implausible strength. As his legs folded into the dirt uselessly and his arms lolled out unhelpfully by his side, yet another surge of pain overtook him.

He had never experienced a heart attack, but this put his image of what he assumed that felt like to shame. His chest was more than aflame; it felt as though his heart were clawing its way out of his chest with extremely sharp and pointy claws. His whole body was attacking him from the inside out, and Ichigo knew, with every fiber of his being, that he would die (again, if possible) here, in the dirt, in his tattered clothes with his silent, unresponsive Zanpakuto.

Ichigo considered the last part of that thought with some annoyance; he was dying, and Zangetsu, his only friend in this place, still would not grace him with his presence. Fine, Ichigo thought numbly, spluttering as the inevitable rain began to pour, completing the truly ominous picture that was the raging storm above him. He raised his throbbing head to the sky, willing the lightning to strike him so that this pain would finally end. Although the powers that be had evidently deemed him unworthy to die a normal death, he knew that no afterlife would be preferable to this mess.

As the rain continued to stream down his face, he noticed something. This was not rain. It didn't smell like rain, and as he opened his mouth to taste the strange substance, it became blatantly obvious that this was in no way, shape, or form, rain. At least not the rain that he had known in his former life. But… something was familiar about this liquid; the taste was dimly recognized by his taste buds, yet distinctly inedible-flavored at the same time. He thought for a moment, but only for a moment. It felt like his whole body split down the middle, with the worst pains flaring madly in his head and chest. He grasped Zangetsu more tightly than he ever had in his life, trying to offset the sheer magnitude of the pain with all of his might.

But the pain continued, ignorant of his wishes. The rain poured even harder, the thunder reached a deafening pitch, and the very colors of the sky seemed to tauten with the strain of the ruckus. Not to be outdone, the lightning flashed by at a quickening pace, until finally, it lit the sky up with a blinding whiteness. For a split second, everything was white; there was no grey, there were no rocks, there was no dirt. But in a flash, the whiteness disappeared, as the unfortunate passing illusion that it was.

Then there was only darkness. And silence.


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer: We soooo don't own ****_Bleach_****. This causes great sadness.**

**AN: Oh god. We suck so much. So so so many apologies. Longer note at the bottom, but I'll stop the rambling for now and let you read in peace.**

* * *

Night had fallen, and he opened the door, not expecting to find her here. She was never here unless she had to be, and he knew most of her days were spent in the Tenth Division's Captain's office, as far from him as she could possibly get. The sprawling palace had replaced the First Division grounds both spatially and symbolically, and it was meant only for the Spirit King, as well as his two commanders to a lesser degree.

She had been furious when he had insisted that she stay with him, and he'd had to hold back a laugh when he'd caught a glimpse of her face. She **had** always been one of those people who were unintentionally funny when they were on the brink of blind rage, and he'd certainly missed that face. It had been too long. All of this was taking too long. Things had changed; he hadn't been able to strike when he'd originally planned, so he'd had to adapt, to formulate a new plan. He kind of liked it this way, actually. This way, she was close to him (at least in theory) while he figured things out; he could make sure that no one harmed a hair on her head.

Of course, the King's zeal to create some sort of mega-kingdom in which he could have absolute control complicated things, but Gin was confident that she would be safest here while he worked on a countermeasure to this kingdom idea. Actually, he didn't even know where the King was; he seemed to disappear to deal with "private matters" every other day. He'd tried to see if the Royal Guard knew where he went on these days, but Ulquiorra had been supremely unhelpful when he'd tried to schmooze some information out of him.

"Why do you want to know?" the Arrancar had asked, his cold voice matching the suspicious narrowing of his eyes.

"Just wondering, no particular reason," he'd replied, chuckling as he smiled innocently. "I'm a curious boy, I guess. My nosiness sometimes gets the better of me."

He'd turned then, and walked away, his curiosity even less satiated than he thought possible. Reflecting on the conversation now, he reminded himself that Aizen was an enigma of sorts, albeit an especially difficult-to-kill enigma. The Hogyoku and the power that came with being the Spirit King… they were unpleasantly formidable.

He stood up, turning as he heard the door open. She came in quickly, brushing past him quickly without a word. He could only see her back, but the resentment practically rolled off of her in visible waves. It was going to be one of those nights. It was always one of those nights.

"Nice night, no?" he asked jovially, his signature smirk stretching the corners of his mouth up with routine ease.

"It is," she agreed, turning to face him, her face just as morose as her voice. She placed her hands on her hips as she looked at him speculatively, the unspoken division between their two supposed sides forming an invisible wall between them. It wasn't necessarily uncomfortable silence that tended to pervade the room; it was just a thick silence filled with the unfortunate unspoken words.

"How is Captain Hitsugaya this evening?" he asked politely, still smirking. The pleasantries were really all that could be said at this point. There was nothing more to say. He knew that she understood his actions as gestures of protection; he had explicitly told her that everything he had done, was doing, and would do was for her, to prevent anyone and anything from interfering with or threatening her life.

She'd narrowed her eyes at this, the amusing anger beginning to show on her face. But she'd said nothing in response, and he'd assumed that eventually, it would come up again. But it hadn't.

Days had passed, followed quickly by months, then less quickly by years. So the pleasantries were all that remained. He wasn't sure what more he could do to convey his worry or even to ease her anger. That anger wasn't entirely unexpected, after all.

"He's fine," she replied shortly, still watching him intently. "Why do you care?" He shrugged, still smirking.

"I am interested in a broad variety of subjects," he said vaguely, watching her as well, his eyes widening slightly as her hand moved to fiddle with the necklace around her neck. It seemed to be an unconscious action, one learned after years of practice.

"Well, I'm sure you have a busy day today tomorrow," she snapped, turning away. "After all, you are practically the King's right hand. This_ kingdom_ can't run itself." She walked into another room, her arms crossed, and he was positive that she had not even cast a backwards glance in his direction.

He moved to the window, looking outside as a warm smugness irradiated his inner organs. After all these years, after all that they had been through, she had kept it. It was always with her, and she knew as well as he did what that necklace had represented all of these years. The walls may be impenetrable at the moment, but both of them knew that the silence was little more than a poor substitute for the divergent histories that had written over their basest, most incontrovertible feelings.

* * *

His eyes blinked rapidly, trying to clear the assorted ashes, dust, and soot from his lashes. He was flat on his stomach on top of what looked like a large pile of blackened trash. His body was still screaming at him as it tried to chase away the remnants of the earlier agony, but his eyes flickered upward, noting the changed sky.

It looked like early morning; a hint of elusive golden brilliance was peeking out from behind the clouds. And he could hear birds somewhere… this was definitely not where he was supposed to be. Where was the grey? The rocks? He had to be dreaming; there was really no other explanation.

He raised himself up gingerly, parts of his body still writhing in protest. It wasn't trash, this blackened pile he was standing on. It looked like charred wood, scorched metal, and other assorted materials, all covered in soot and ash. His eyes raked the mass carefully; he could see what looked like half of a refrigerator and a grotesque representation of the inside of a car, twisted and mangled beyond recognition. He tensed; this street looked oddly familiar.

There were no longer any standing houses, but judging by the mess, they were here somewhere, just reduced to rubble. And the trees were gone, he noted, glancing around quickly for a single example of greenery. There were none. As his chest began to constrict unpleasantly, he stepped down from atop his current pile of assorted rubbish.

For once in a very long time, he knew where he was. It was Karakura Town, or at least it was the broken pieces of what had once been Karakura Town. Rancid bile was rising in his stomach with staggering rapidity, and it took everything he had left to keep it down. He dropped in one fluid movement, his knees disturbing a particularly dense patch soot as they connected to the ground. He coughed as the debris formed into a small cloud, and he realized, with an unpleasant jolt in the churning waters of his stomach, that the question that had plagued him so aggressively for all those months had been answered in the blink of an eye.

The answer was no; they hadn't successfully protected the town. It was gone. It was all gone. Not just gone, but obliterated. Decimated. None of the usual dramatic words seemed to do it proper justice.

For a long moment, he didn't quite know what to think. His mind was helplessly directionless. But slowly, thoughts began to trickle back in, slipping past the numb wall that had firmly erected itself in his mind. One word stuck out: casualties.

Ignoring the fact that the pain in his mind seemed to be battling the pain everywhere else, he stood again. With the tiniest shred of trepidation, his eyes searched the nearby piles, as though expecting to see the blackened bones of a friend or loved one staring back at him. He didn't see anything out of the ordinary; in fact, he didn't see anything relevant at all. His head whipped from side to side, looking for a glint of silver or a long white ribbon, perhaps darkened by the mess.

However, his search soon proved fruitless. Zangetsu was nowhere to be found. This development was especially worrisome; Ichigo didn't know what this meant, or if it was permanent. Great, he thought savagely, desperation truly beginning to wash over him, just another thing that's gone to hell today.

He staggered to the very bottom of the pile, mentally debating whether or not this situation was better than the last one. It was pretty much a toss-up, he reasoned, feeling shittier by the second. His legs were feeling weird again, so he sat down carefully, and he leaned his back against what looked like part of a bed frame.

For the first time in weeks, he thought of his father, his sisters, his friends… He hoped they were in the Soul Society, free from pain and happy. He knew that Rukia, Renji, and maybe even some of the others would take care of everyone up there. If they were still alive, that is. Ichigo groaned; this pain was stubborn. He needed to take a quick moment, to get some rest.

The thing with the storm had been pretty brutal, and he felt like he'd run a marathon on top of that. So he situated himself in the most comfortable part of the rubble that he could find and tried to relax his frantic mind. A terrible thought suddenly occurred to him; he wondered if the cemetery that held his mother's grave had been destroyed in the scorched earth campaign that had leveled the rest of the town. An unfamiliar pang prickled his senses; he recognized it dimly as anger.

But he was drifting now, and the anger that was flaring in his stomach for the first time in a very long time was brutally beat down by the comfortable apathy that had become so routine, so necessary. His eyes flickered briefly before they closed for good, and he caught only a tiny glimpse of the brilliant sunrise blazing across the horizon before he fell into a dreamless, inconsequential sleep.

* * *

**AN Continued: So we're well aware of how much we suck in terms of updating. There were exams and then graduation (LEAH GRADUATED FROM COLLEGE GUYS. OMG.) and then we were in Spain and then Leah got Spanish Influenza and then we were on the plane for like ten hours because we totally flew over the state we actually live in and it was this whole thing and whatever.** **Regardless. Illness apparently spurs creativity, so as penance for not updating for AGES, we're going to release another chapter later today or sometime tomorrow. I would do it now, but my dog is staring at the door in a pointed fashion, and if I don't take him out I think he'll try to murder me in my sleep again...so yeah...oversharing...**

**Anyhoo, hope you enjoyed the chapter, and the next one will be out today or tomorrow! Thank you for the reviews :D**

**Nissa and Leah**


	5. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer: We don't own _Bleach. _Sad face :(**

**AN1: Yes. This is like two days late. Let us never speak of it again.**

**AN2: This chapter is a bit relationship heavy, but only to finalize some alliances and (hopefully) explain some reasonings. I promise things will pick back up in the next chapter (Who can guess what that vague phrasing means? Cookie for you, if you do). But seriously. This is listed as Adventure/Angst for a reason (i.e. not a heavy focus on Romance), so just bear with us, please.**

**Hope you like it! :D**

**Leah and Nissa**

* * *

These meetings were even more of a pain in the ass with the old man gone. They were pretty much an excuse for Tosen and Ichimaru to prance in front of everyone like the bitches they were. There was also some talking involved, not that Kenny listened to anything that those two traitors had to say. People talking at him tended to be low on his list of priorities in general, and as he pushed the door to the meeting room open, he cursed Aizen for not abolishing these ridiculous wastes of time back when he usurped the throne. The least he could have done was made himself useful for something.

As Kenny walked unconcernedly to his spot, neither Ichimaru nor Tosen reacted to his late arrival. The latter was droning on about new stations and surveillance postings, none of which interested Kenny in the slightest. So he amused himself marginally by looking around the spacious room; this was one far grander than the old one, of course. His eyes fell on the empty spot next to Kyoraku, where Kuchiki should have been standing. He couldn't help it; he let a grin spread across his face. He had to admit, he wouldn't have thought the arrogant bastard had it in him. But he was gone, and all of them were stuck here, listening to this crock of shit.

Tosen had demanded the spot be left vacant so they all remembered that their comrade was a traitor, that he was the one who was causing all the trouble for them and their squads. Kenny chuckled; he still disliked the man, but a minuscule amount of respect was mingled with that dislike.

"Is something amusing, Captain Zaraki?" Ichimaru asked lightly, his sinister grin in place as usual. Kenny didn't even turn to look at him; he shrugged without much feeling.

"Too many things to put into words," he replied brusquely, granting Ichimaru a manic smile of his own.

"I see," Ichimaru said slowly, turning away from him. "Anyway…" Kenny let his attention drift again, but it still took an inordinate amount of time for the godawful farce of a meeting to end. Finally they were dismissed, and the lines began to disperse.

Hitsugaya practically ran out the door, and many of the others were hot on his heels, eager to get out of here as quickly as possible. Kenny groaned, stretching. He walked to the door, figuring whatever had been said would come back to him sooner or later. As he stepped into the hallway, he distinctly saw a black-braided head disappear around the far corner.

He turned the other way and nearly ran into Kira and Hisagi, the unofficial captains of the remaining men in the First and Fifth Divisions. Pretty much all of the Sixth had left two years ago, so the few remaining men had been absorbed into other divisions. Not so for the First and Fifth; there were still a lot of people in those two. And the two lieutenants had been given a shitload of work along with their unwanted promotions. Kenny surveyed them for a second, thinking that no threat could have kept him here to deal with that crap.

"Kira, Hisagi," he nodded, noting the tense expressions on their face.

"Captain Zaraki," they both acknowledged, Kira glancing around him as though worried someone could be hiding behind him. They weren't supposed to be associating, because it could be treasonous and shit, and someone would undoubtedly be along in a few seconds to chivvy them along with threats befitting of the king's loyalists.

"Good day for a bit of practice, isn't it?" Kenny asked neutrally, studying his zanpakuto as he raised it off of his shoulders.

"It is," Hisagi conceded, nodding once at Kenny before he walked away. Kira nodded as well, a smile playing on the corners of his lips. Kenny chuckled yet again, hearing Ichimaru's sleazy voice about a faltering Resistance in the back of his mind. It wasn't faltering, Kenny thought joyfully, and everyone knew it. Something big was brewing, and the long-awaited day of reckoning was just over the horizon. It wouldn't be long now, before the coming battle put that ridiculous war to shame. He just hoped that when the time came, he'd have a shot at Ichimaru. He wanted to carve that cocky smile right off of his face.

* * *

Yesterday's practice with Zabimaru had been a welcome break, but today meant everything went back to normal. Things hadn't changed much; there were whispers of several civilian deaths in the far eastern part of Rukongai, either the thirtieth or thirty-first district. Details were still fuzzy though, so Renji was trying to force down a quick lunch so he could try and get out there, talk to some people, and see what had really happened. He was practically shoveling some sustenance into his mouth when a hand rested on his shoulder, followed by a surprised voice.

"God, slow down, Abarai," she said, moving her hand as she circled the table to sit down across from him. "Don't hurt yourself." Renji chewed slowly; he knew that voice. As she came into view, he could see that she was smiling, apparently in a good mood.

"Arisawa," he replied blearily, his words slurred by the sizable chunk of food in his mouth, "You're back. Thought it'd be a few more days." After the War, the surviving humans: Tatsuki Arisawa, Orihime Inoue, and the Quincy, Uryu Ishida, had come up with the shinigami from the Human World. Unlike the other two, Tatsuki remained with the Resistance, taking an active role in whatever she could. And given what had happened with Inoue and Ishida, and of course Kurosaki, Renji knew that she was trying to block it all out, to keep moving in her usual active way. He'd come to know her pretty well over the past couple years; her headstrong spirit was a fresh of breath air in many ways, a reminder of the easier days of the past.

"Nah," she said, grabbing some of the food from his plate. "Only took a few days." She chewed thoughtfully, absently picking the bread apart with her fingers as she did. "There wasn't much there, actually." She glanced at him, the undeniable recklessness sparkling in her eyes forcing him to smile in spite of himself.

"Well…that's good, I guess," he said slowly, brushing his hands on his robe, knowing she wouldn't scold him for his lack of manners. He stood up, looking around as he shifted Zabimaru marginally.

"Where are you going?" she asked bluntly, her eyes having followed his motions intently. He looked down at her, and a chuckle rose in his throat.

"What's it to you?" he asked smarmily, smiling at her as her eyes narrowed. She too brushed her hands on the fabric on her stomach, and she stood up, looking annoyed.

"Asshole," she muttered, moving to walk by him. As her left shoulder brushed by his right, their hands met, just for the tiniest of seconds. It was her warning, he knew, that he'd better be careful and that he'd better not leave her. He'd better come back. Or else.

* * *

The taupe walls were soothing to look at, and they provided a welcome backdrop to her thoughts. This was her second favorite place to spend a day; the small garden where she usually sat was a little too crowded at the moment. She planned to do the same thing she'd done every day for the past two years, to take a few hours to get lost in her thoughts and memories. It was sad in some ways, but also peaceful, and sometimes the happy memories would become the highlight of her day. She needed to think about them, to remember the friends who had made her life so wonderful.

Now, everything was wrong. After Ichigo, Chad, Chizuru, Keigo, Mizuiro, and countless others had been killed in the War, she had tried to stay as close to Tatsuki and Uryu as possible. But they had disappeared to the Rukongai, their faces eventually blending into the massive, faceless crowds. After the War and the devastation in the Human World, there were hundreds of millions, if not billions of people to sort through, and it was almost like they didn't want her to find them. They didn't want to see her.

She knew they probably disapproved of her living with Ulquiorra, especially after Ichigo had risked his life to come and save her from that very Arrancar so many years ago. Orihime sighed at the thought. Ichigo. Her memories with him were some of the best that she had. She still couldn't believe he was gone, that something had actually managed to kill him for good. She wiped away a tear, hoping to stave off the inevitable flow before her disliked roommate returned. But he was early tonight; the door opened silently, and he walked in slowly, almost as silently. He said nothing, but he studied her face, his eyebrows contracting for a moment with displeasure.

"Is something wrong?" he asked calmly in his cold, inflectionless voice, his tone betraying no indication that he truly cared what her answer would be.

"No, no" she assured him, trying to smile. "Just a sad thought, that's all." He looked at her for a moment, trying to ascertain whether or not she was lying; he didn't like it when she was unhappy.

"Oh," he offered, still standing, staring at her as she sat on the comfortable chair. "I see."

She was about to ask about the rebels, to ask if a familiar face had died today, but the words, as always, died in her throat.

"You're earlier than usual," she began, watching him carefully. "Is everything all right?"

"Yes," he replied simply, sitting down fluidly, yet looking strangely awkward seated.

"Oh," she offered in response, just as he had earlier. A light breeze suddenly wafted in from the open window, and with it came a black butterfly, which flew deftly to Ulquiorra's outstretched finger. He stood up almost immediately, and he stared at her yet again.

"Something requires my attention," he stated, his hand resting on his zanpakuto. Orihime just nodded, hoping that the 'something' wasn't too bad. As he slipped out of the room, she found herself left alone again with her thoughts. It had been a bit difficult in the beginning, but now it was routine. They existed in separate, yet occasionally overlapping spheres, she reasoned. They had both known the torture that loneliness afforded, and both had tired of that torture, choosing instead to look to their unlikely companion as a means of alleviating it.

* * *

It was almost impossibly hard to coax someone into allowing these visits, which was why this was only his fourth one since the war had ended. As he followed the faceless guard down the cold, dank corridor, he glanced around in unpleasant recognition. It wasn't really a prison, this place… it was more like a dungeon. The dark grey walls looked like stones matted with black clay, and the little light that did exist in this terrible place was dim and flickering, as though even it didn't want to be here. The small cell they were in had two rickety cots, a toilet and a sink, and a small table.

Toshiro approached the bars, and he saw Yuzu breathing unevenly on the same cot as last time, her ragged breath audible from where he was standing. The faceless guard said something before he disappeared, but Toshiro wasn't listening; his eyes were combing the darkness for Karin. As the lamp on the small table decided to flicker back to life, he caught sight of her, leaning against the wall in the far corner.

"Karin?" he asked, his voice catching in his throat. "Are you all right?" She didn't look at him for a moment, but then she moved off the wall and began walking toward him, her eyes trained on the ground.

"Toshiro," she said, her voice catching as well, "Why do you keep coming back here? As entertaining as it this place is, I'm sure there are other things you could be doing." His chest constricted slightly; it looked like her bravado was already cracking. She certainly didn't seem as obstinate as usual.

"How is she?" he asked quietly, glancing at Yuzu quickly, afraid to look for too long. Karin glanced at her sister as well, her eyes lingering far longer than his had.

"I don't know," she admitted, meeting his turquoise eyes for the first time since the conversation began. "It's hard to tell." She grasped the bars tightly, her knuckles turning a grayish white from the tension. Toshiro studied her hand for a moment, watching as her small knuckles grew whiter and whiter. He hesitated for a moment, but closed one of his hands over hers, trying to be helpful.

"I'm going to find your father," he said in a low voice, not wanting Yuzu to hear this. He didn't know if it would make her worse, if it would give her a taste of hope that would ultimately wither as more and more days passed without a word. "He doesn't know you're alive, but I think the best thing to do now is tell him. He'll come and get you two." Karin just stared at him for a moment, her eyes confused. Toshiro dropped his hand and let it hang by his side instead.

"It'll be dangerous," Karin breathed, sounding cross. "That's why we shot this down before, right? All of a sudden we think this will work? What about Aizen?" She noted the spasm of anger that crossed his face for the shortest of seconds, but his inscrutable expression was back before he spoke.

"Between myself, your father, and whoever he trusts to bring with him, I'm sure we can manage to figure a way out," he said dismissively, trying to downplay the reality of her words. "It's time we tried something, at least." He looked back at Yuzu, who seemed to be shivering; she looked feverish even from where he stood. Dropping his eyes to the ground, he turned to leave, before Karin caught his hand, her wrist extended carefully through the thick bars.

"Wait, Toshiro," she mumbled, eyes averted. "You'll come with us, if he gets here in time?" The last part of her sentence was practically whispered, and he looked away as he answered. That was the worst part. In time… the unspoken possibility was terrifying to consider.

"Yes," he said, a little irritation coloring his tone to hide the foreign feeling that spread through his chest. "Of course I will. Why would I stay here?" Karin stared at him for a long minute before she nodded and dropped his hand, turning away, back to her sister. He turned away as well, and although he stood rooted to the spot for a moment, he finally strode away from the cell, the last part of her sentence still floating uneasily in his mind. The borrowed time they had been living on for the past years was shattering like one of Aizen's heinous illusions. They had to get out.


End file.
